Drecker Motors
by Sykorax
Summary: A vampire one shot that I wrote in a friendly contest with one of my friends.  It's about a used car salesman and his subsequent embrace.  If you are reading please comment.


**PART 1**

Brent was driving home and he was angry. Dinner at that country club had been an embarrassment. He had been there by invitation so he had expected to be treated as a guest not a form of entertainment. The invitee had been Mr. Darrel Hardy a loan shark that Brent worked with to get people payment plans for cars they couldn't afford. Darrel's methods were at times unorthodox but there was no doubt he was successful. Membership in one of Chicago's nicest country clubs was evidence of that. He had invited Brent out to golf which led to dinner in the club's dining room. Brent was terrible at golf, but he was even worse at ordering things in French. Darrel took it in stride, the two of them had been working together for a few years and the balding 50 year old liked Brent. Amy Hardy, Darrel's daughter took it in stride too. Her straight golden hair framed a smile that made a dining room full of some Chicago's wealthiest seem like a comfortable backyard barbeque. Then Dale sat down.

"Good to see you Darrel," he was handsome, and flashed pearly whites that matched his alabaster skin. Darrel stood and shook his hand.

"Dale have a seat!" he bellowed, "Brent I want you to meet Dale Van Buskirk. He is a silent partner in Corus Bank & Trust."

"Brent Drecker," Brent proffered a hand which Dale took with a strong but eerily stiff grip. "Do you deal in car loans?" He asked moving his hand with the standard up and down motion. One eyebrow rose on Dale's face but it wasn't accompanied by the usual creasing of the forehead. The pliant skin of his face seemed immune to wrinkles.

"Brent deals in refurbished automobiles." Darrel inserted.

"Oh..." Dale scoffed, "I guess I just didn't expect to see a used car salesmen in here but times change. I deal primarily in insurance."

"What kind?" Brent inquired in a dry monotone.

"Life insurance, you never know when little mishaps can leave the ones you love stranded." Brent was already pretty sure the only one Dale loved was himself. "Are you enjoying the estate?"

"The grounds are quite nice," Brent shot back with a smile, "but the members at times leave something to be desired."

"Perhaps you should see if you can become a member," Dale replied, "maybe you would get an idea of who they will let in here. I see you are enjoying the Foie Gras." A slight smile played across Dale's lips. "That's fattened goose liver by the way."

"I don't need to know what it is to enjoy it." Brent's knife ground into the plate as he sawed off an extra large bite and inserted it into his mouth chewing slowly eyes locked with Dale's. For a split second he thought he saw an intense burning jealousy in those eyes as the hint of a sneer raised one edge of Dale's mouth. It was as if Brent was partaking in something that he would have killed for. Then it was gone.

Dale turned and focused all of his attention on Darrel. The two talked business loans, interest rates, and accounts so fast it was hard to follow. Brent no longer existed. The night was a bust and after finishing his meal Brent slid his chair backward to excuse himself when another hand landed on his. He almost jumped in surprise before he realized it was Amy.

"Stay a little longer." She smiled. "You never told me whether you got a Lamborghini on your car lot."

"I didn't," Brent replied, "but I will and when I do I'll let you test drive it." Amy laughed but Brent changed the subject quickly. He knew she wasn't really interested in cars. There was no doubt that she was cute, not a head turner, but cute. Personality goes a long way and her easygoing polite demeanor gave her a certain allure. She worked as her father's accountant and was business savvy. The two caught up for a few minutes until Darrel excused himself to go to the bathroom.

"Amy, could you get a drink?" Dale interjected into their conversation.

"Yes." She stood up stiffly and walked to the bar. Brent ruffled by the odd interruption and turned toward Dale.

"You know where I come from men get women drinks."

"Well I guess I'm not where you come from, which guessing by the way you talk is East side. Is your used car dealership nestled in the slums over there?"

"It is. You should come by some time we do repairs, tune-ups, and custom paint jobs. You don't look like the 'do it yourself type' I wouldn't want you to get those pretty little hands dirty."

"These hands get far dirtier then you might think. I want you to watch this though." Amy had returned from the bar and placed Dale's drink and one for herself on the table. She sat back down and continued her conversation with Brent as if it had never been interrupted. Except now Dale was there. He inserted his own bits of conversation laughed at the appropriate moments and little by little shifted the center of attention to him. Amy seemed to become a giggling school girl who hung on his every word. It wasn't like her at all and Brent wondered if she had had one too many glasses of Champagne.

"Look at the time," Dale started without looking at any time piece, "Amy could I offer you a ride home?"

"I thought you would never ask," she giggled taking his proffered arm. Then the two of them walked out without even giving him a second glance.

**PART 2**

Brent let his foot mash into the gas as the speedometer rose to 110 mph. He was disgusted by individuals like Dale Van Buskirk who never worked a day in their entire life but had respect and money. Their fathers had been businessmen not mechanics. The speedometer continued to climb to 120. As Brent's Viper rounded the next curve he felt the rear tires slip a little on the asphalt. The road was damp from the condensing humidity. The thought of losing control added a little thrill to the otherwise boring drive home.

Brent always took 41 to get back to East Side when it was late. There were never many cops after 10:00 PM so he could drive fast. It ended up taking close to the same time as 90 but the drive was more interesting. Brent continued to accelerate to 130 on the straight run when his radar detector went off. His foot slammed on the brakes and he felt the familiar pulsing of the anti-lock system slowing him down to 50. The anti-lock breaks made it hard to skid and Brent made a mental note to remove the function next time he had the car up in the shop.

He scanned his eyes to either side of the road looking for an officer car. If he hadn't been fast enough this would be his third speeding ticket. That would mean in the least a hell of a fine at worst a license suspension. There was nothing. He began to accelerate out of the curve that took 41 back away from Lake Michigan when he noticed a red Mazda Miata on the side of the road with a young woman bending over the hood in a matching red dress. Brent drove past but thought better of it when he looked at the clock and turned the vehicle around.

He pulled up on the other side of the road and rolled down his window.

"Need any help?"

Hearing his car approach she had already looked up from under the hood. "Oh no I'm just fine." She leaned against the bumper and tossed her curly shoulder length hair over her shoulder.

Brent did a double take before realizing that she was being sarcastic. "I can take a look." He offered following up with his best disarming smile.

"Be my guest handsome." Brent pulled his viper up behind and exited the vehicle. As he walked toward the front of the Mazda he got a better idea of who he was dealing with. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties, dark brown hair, petite, her complexion was pale but her features almost looked Mediterranean. The dress she wore had speghetti straps and was just slightly below mid thigh. When she bent over the engine quite a bit of leg was on display. Look but don't touch was a motto Brent lived by.

"So what happened?" He asked looking at the engine.

"Lights went dim and then I lost power steering." Brent could already see the problem but the symptoms matched his diagnosis.

"Your serpentine belt is broken." Brent started walking back toward his car. "You know you are probably about the luckiest person on Earth. I have an old belt in my trunk. It's not made for a Mazda but I think I could adjust the tensioner and 'jury rig' it so you could drive to the shop."

"Where's 'the' shop?"

"It's about two miles away over in East Side." Brent dug the old cracked belt out of his trunk thanking the stars he hadn't thrown it away. He grabbed his tool kit from the back seat and walked back over to the front of the Mazda.

"I'm Brent by the way." He said picking the remnants of the old belt from the engine block.

"Jenna," she replied simply leaning back against the bumper. "So Brent you fix cars for a living?"

"I sell them to," Brent said as he pulled the new belt over the gears to check the size. The width was close enough. He pulled out his socket wrench to adjust the tensioner and pull the belt tight. "I could probably give you a good deal on this Mazda for trade in if you want I got a blue 650i BMW on the lot right now."

"No thanks I'll stick to my girl," Jenna gently patted the side of the hood, "she hasn't steered me wrong yet."

"Suit yourself." Brent stood back up. "Go ahead and fire up the engine and see if it holds." She twirled on her heel and walked back to the driver side. Her movement was so fluid Brent thought she must have been a dancer. The engine had some trouble turning over probably because the battery was almost dead but it did. The belt wobbled on the guide wheels but it stayed on track.

"Okay just follow me back to the shop. Don't drive too fast and turn off any auxiliary electronics like your radio."

"I've never been good at following."

"I'll drive slow."

Brent fired up the engine on his viper flipped it into first gear. As he passed on the left he heard Jenna rev up the engine. He drove the rest of the way to the shop staying under 30 the whole way. The Neon sign flashed overhead, 'RECKER MOTORS', the 'D' had burned out a few weeks ago. Brent made a mental note to get it fixed because the connotation it implied didn't seem to quite fit. The lot was about 10,000 square feet and had a 3 car garage for, repairs, tune-ups, and custom work. Brent used his remote to open the front gate. In this part of town one needed an eight foot security fence lined with razor wire to make sure no unwanted vandalism occurred. He drove up to garage three and pulled to one side pulled on the brake and hopped out of the car.

"Take it into garage 3!" He yelled over his shoulder. Jenna pulled the Miata into the indicated garage and Brent followed her inside on foot. He rummaged around on his inventory shelf to see if he had serpentines for a Mazda. Jenna had already gotten out of the car and was popping the hood.

"This should work a little better," Brent said holding up a new belt. He kept parts around for most kinds of cars since he did so much modification work.

"I guess I'm pretty lucky that an auto mechanic drove past when I got stranded," Jenna smiled.

"Car dealer," Brent corrected, "I sell cars."

"Sure Brent..." she paused looking at him to continue.

"Drecker"

"Ah... Like the sign says, or like it will say when the 'D' is fixed. So Brent who sells cars what else do you do?"

As Brent worked on threading the new belt he found himself telling Jenna everything. He wasn't a particularly open person about his life but he felt surprisingly comfortable around her. He told her about how his dad owned the shop but didn't have a college education. How he was somewhat embarrassed by his blue collar past and how his dad had died of prostate cancer 4 years ago. She listened intently, it was flattering, and she knew just the right questions to ask to keep him talking. He realized that over an hour had past.

"I think you are good to go." Brent said when the conversation reached another pause. He slammed the hood shut.

"What do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it the belt was cheap and I enjoyed the company."

"Hmm..." she bit her lower lip, "I really don't like owing people favors." She took a few steps toward Brent and put a hand on his shoulder. It was warm almost hot and it sent a shiver down his spine. "I think it would be best if paid you back my way." Then she lent forward and kissed him. Perhaps it had been the light of the sodium street lights before but now she seemed flush and full of color. Brent placed his hands on her hips and pulled her closer and she attacked him. They made love in the garage on a greasy workbench. Brent's new suit was probably ruined but he didn't care it was the most intense experience of his life. She was rough and had a strength that seemed curious on such a small frame. He felt her biting him. There was no foreplay it was gritty and violent. Brent smelled blood and felt lightheaded but he couldn't make himself care. Then he blacked out.

In the morning Brent woke in the garage with a splitting headache. He felt like crap and he looked even worse. His cloths were torn and disheveled. He couldn't believe he had fallen asleep in the garage. The Miata was gone and so was Jenna. Brent already wanted to see her again but something told him he never would. Chicago was a big city and he had no way to find her. He stumbled out of the garage into the sunlight.

"Thank god it's Saturday." Brent mumbled. It would have been embarrassing to be found in this state by one of his mechanics.

**PART 3**

Work was slow and Brent couldn't shake Jenna from his mind. On Tuesday he got a call on his cell from Darrel Hardy.

"Hello Brent?" The voice was timid unlike Darrel's usual loud good natured self.

"Yes Darrel," Brent paused waiting for Darrel to continue, "um... is something wrong?"

"No, no, I mean I hope not." Darrel stuttered a little, "it's just have you seen Amy since this weekend."

"No." Brent remembered the visit to the country club.

"She just hasn't come into work and she never does that."

"Maybe she is feeling under the weather."

"I've called her house and then I knocked on the door. I don't think she is home. I just wanted to know if you have seen her."

"No, I haven't but I will give you a call as soon as I do."

"Thanks Brent I appreciate it." Darrel hung up. The last time Brent had seen Amy was at the country club with that snob Dale. Maybe he had not taken her home. Brent dismissed the thought from his mind it didn't make any sense.

Amy missed their regular lunch on Wednesday. It was not something they always did but normally she told him when she was not going to make it. He called her but no one picked up. The rest of the week seemed to drag on. Every night he had intensely vivid dreams all involving Jenna.

That Friday was a race night and Brent left work a little early to catch dinner. Right be fore he left he put a fresh coat of wax on the viper. It was a 1997 model but it was in perfect condition. Brent never dwelled on the obscene amount of money he had dumped into the car. He left his house at 6:00. The track was about an hour outside of Chicago.

The drive was uneventful and the night was cool enough to keep a window rolled down. The raceway was a private establishment supposedly owned by the mob but Brent doubted the rumors. Things were already started when he got there around 7:00. The track lights were on and people were tailgating and drinking cheap beer. Brent knew that hanging out at a place like this was not necessarily the best thing for the reputation he was trying to develop but he loved racing too much to stop.

Brent pulled up the track and he could hear the rumble of dozens of running engines some being revved up by impatient or antsy drivers waiting for their turn. He hopped out of the vehicle to get himself on the rooster. Coming this late it was sometimes hard to get on the list. It did not look too busy though.

"Drecker!" Brent recognized the Russian accent immediately. Mikhail was a bouncer at a big Chicago night club who liked racing his corvette. He was not that good but he liked working on his car. The man was enormous and all muscle.

"Hey Mikhail. There still space?"

"Ve can alvays make room. Maybe you pay me back for that bet last veek and I see vat I can do."

"Yeah, yeah I got cash on me." He handed Mikhail a $100 for losing last week. He knew Mikhail liked finding people who would give him a run for his money. Brent was not the best driver there but he had a little more money to spend then most on his car and it made a difference. Mikhail counted the bills before stuffing them in a tri-fold that he had pulled out of the back pocket of his jeans. He threw an arm around Brent's shoulder. It was hard not to be a little intimidated at 6'5" he towered over Brent's more modest 5'11".

"I have good race for you." Mikhail wagged his finger. Brent rolled is eyes. "Wery good driver."

"Alright introduce me maybe I can get my $100 back."

"I doubt that comrade."

Mikhail's strong hand directed Brent closer to the track. A red Mazda Miata convertible ripped out of the second 'S' curve. The driver had curly brown hair and was decidedly female. Brent laughed when he recognized her. An orange Camaro tore out of the curve in close pursuit. It looked like this was the end of the last lap. It was a long straight away to the line. The driver of the Camaro floored it and planned to use the straight run and his larger engine to pull out a victory. Brent watched him try to pass on the outside but the Miata's rear bumper was always in the way. He made a quick cut back to the inside but the Miata followed just enough in the way to make passing impossible. The Camaro swung back to the outside but it was already over they were too close to the finish line.

"Wery agressive eh?"

"Certainly seems that way." Brent smiled if only Mikhail knew the half of it. The Miata had pulled around to the side and lined up with the other cars that were running their engines on the deck. Brent spent the next series of races shooting the breeze with Mikhail who cursed like a trucker every time he lost a bet and he made many. Brent joined in on a few of them but for the most part it was Mikhail's Russian friends or people who frequented the nightclub. Brent kept glancing over at Jenna. She had half a dozen young men around her. It was like her own little posse she caught his eye one of the times and waved. Brent waved back and smiled. A couple of the guys fawning over her looked at him with slitted jealous eyes.

As the roster got closer to Brent he sauntered over to where Jenna sat on the hood of her car. She smiled at him as he got closer and he lost site of everything else. The half dozen men around her disappeared. The hood of her car became a fuzzy red background that framed her casual dress of jeans and a leather jacket.

"We're up to race here in a bit."

"I know that large Russian fellow told me earlier that he wanted me to run against you."

"Do you come here often?"

"First time but I think that I will come next month." A bullhorn called out their names to get on deck.

"May the best man... er, person win." Brent nodded and started toward his Viper. He had seen her driving earlier. She was good, probably better then he but his engine would overtake hers on the straightaway. He pulled his car up next to hers looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed so pale under the overhead track lights. The flag dropped and Brent floored it. Her smaller car accelerated into the lead quickly but as Brent changed gears he made up the distance in seconds. She was on the inside of the first curve. Her run of the first s-bend was perfect Brent managed to stay along side her but her car had already pulled about half a length ahead. The first s-curve went right into the second. On the outside of the second bend Brent swung out too far and she managed to get her rear bumper past his front. Brent used the opportunity to swing into the inside but she hugged the curve so close he had no hope of passing. As they rounded out into the straightaway she had a few feet on him. Brent floored it but no matter what he did she kept one corner of her car in front of him. He had never seen someone who could react so fast. He jerked to the outside and tried to use his larger engine to burn her but she followed him out. They sped back into the s-curves again and she once again exhibited superior driving skills. This time when they rounded out of the second s-curve she had a lead on him. It took over half the straightaway to catch up. Brent knew when he was outmatched as he accelerated into the curves on the third and final lap. He knew his execution was less then perfect but he was staying right on her bumper. He could see Jenna in her rearview mirror smiling. She was toying with him. They rounded out into the straightaway for the third time. Brent started to swing out to the right but she followed in kind. In a burst of inspiration he slammed the brakes and yanked the steering wheel to the left. His back end skidded out to the right drawing the car to a diagonal. Brent thanked his lucky stars he had removed the anti-locks earlier that week, shifted down and accelerated to the inside. When the Viper's rear end shot right Jenna followed before realizing that he was actually cutting to the inside. She quickly shot back to the left to cut him off. Brent watched as his front bumper passed the back end of her car. Everything seemed to slow down as her car sped towards his. Brent tensed up expecting an accident that could leave them both dead his foot hovered over the brake. When her rear bumper was about an inch from his front tire she pulled away. Brent geared up and his car began accelerating to its top speed. The finish line was approaching fast and his car seemed to take an eternity to pass. When they hit the finish line Brent's Viper was a few inches ahead. He pulled over to the lot and stopped sitting in his car. His hands were shaking from the excitement and he practically had to pry them from the steering wheel. He was a risk taker but that had been to close.

"Good race." He heard Jenna's voice near his ear. Brent jumped in his seat because he was so tense. He hadn't even heard her approach.

"You could have beaten me."

"Sure, but wasn't that more fun?" She was crazy. The race must have been hard on her she looked exhausted even hungry. "This is the part where you invite me out for a drink."

"I know a nice bar over in East Side. I need a minute though."

**PART 4**

"You're anemic."

"I'm what?" Brent still had a bruise on his arm where the nurse had taken his blood.

"Anemic." Dr. Brown continued, "You have an iron deficiency. I can give you a list of dietary supplements it doesn't take a prescription."

"I always thought that was a female condition..."

"They are more prone to it. You haven't had any major injuries?"

"Not any that I know of."

"It is probably just your diet then. Take the supplements and try to eat more red meat."

"Thanks." Brent took the recommendations. It was a list of over the counter multivitamins. He was not normally the type to go to the doctor but the past couple of weeks he had been exhausted. He also felt cold all the time, it was December in Chicago but he was shivering in his office even when he had the heat blasting. He just never felt up to snuff. That was not completely true. When he was around Jenna he felt great. The two had been going out for a few weeks. Brent would be the first to admit that his love life was the best it had ever been. The social atmosphere she had introduced him to was more then he could have ever imagined.

The last few weeks she had been taking him to parties in what had to be some of the biggest houses in Chicago. It seemed like she knew everybody. Christmas was approaching and he had no idea what to get her. She had already set up a Christmas party date that she assured him would be wild. She also assured him that some of the biggest people in the upper crust of the Chicago financial world would be there.

Christmas Eve was a blowout sale at the lot. His weekend manager Stefani was on because there were so many people. As usual of late he felt weak and the splitting headache made it almost impossible to interact with customers. Another potential sale had just left his office because Brent didn't have the red leather interior on the BMW that he wanted. Sometimes he just wanted to give up on the idea of selling high end used cars. He felt like all of his customers were the same: people who were well off but not wealthy who wanted a nice car but couldn't afford a new one. They were also all pricks. When Jenna called at 6:00 he was more then ready for a change of scenery.

"Brent are you going to pick me up?"

"Yeah, where is this place?"

"It's about 30 minutes north of town. I know the owner he is part owner in Corus bank and Trust."

"Corus bank..." something clicked in Brent's mind, "What's his name?"

"Dale VanBuskirk."

"You are shitting me."

"No Brent." Jenna was starting to sound annoyed. She didn't like it when he cussed. He always got the impression she thought it was improper. "He's an old friend of mine."

"He's your friend? That self-absorbed jerk is your friend?" Jenna started laughing on the other end of the line. It made Brent angrier.

"I take it you have met him. You are probably not the only person who shares that opinion. In fact there will probably be some at this party."

"I guess we won't find out because we aren't going."

"Brent don't be pig headed. Dale is a friend and I told him that I would be showing up tonight."

"Well why don't you give him a call and 'untell' him."

"Brent you are being ridiculous."

"I am not being ridiculous. I just refuse to be a form of entertainment for a stuck-up snob."

"Just pick me up."

Brent didn't remember hanging up the phone or the drive over to Jenna's condominium. He just remembered pulling up on the street and her standing there in a red dress with matching shoes. The top was not as form fitting and tight as what she normally wore and the bottom had enough play in it that she could move her legs freely. It was bulkier then he liked but as usual she made it look fantastic. She opened the door and slid into the passenger's seat. The car ride was in silence. Brent was still mad. She gave directions until they pulled up to the wrought iron gate of a Tudor mansion. The gate opened and Brent pulled the car into the roundabout drive way. He could see that there was a larger lot to the side of the house.

"Don't make me wish I hadn't invited you." Jenna opened the passenger side door and left the vehicle. Brent got out his side of the car and handed his keys to the valet standing next to his door.

"I checked the miles on the odometer," Brent smiled, "I don't want to see any extra when I pick this puppy up." He tapped the hood twice with his hand. The valet nodded and his expression remained stoic. Brent knew he was being a tool but he was still in a foul mood and for some reason it was satisfying to hassle Dale's help. Brent scanned the grounds. The lawn was well trimmed and spotlessly maintained. The front yard has a few topiaries that Brent thought were a bit gaudy but not tacky enough to look terrible. He could hear dogs barking around the back; apparently Dale kept around a little extra security.

Brent turned and headed into the house. A man in a tuxedo took his coat at the door. Jenna was already talking by a grand staircase in the enormous living room to Van Buskirk himself. The pair was surrounded by a number of other well dressed individuals many of them strikingly attractive. They all held themselves as if they were important or fabulously wealthy. Brent pasted his best winning smile to his face and waded into a cesspool of Chicago's elite.

"Mr. Drecker!" Dale greeted a little too enthusiastically, "fancy you being the new boy toy that Jenna has told me so much about." He laughed and Brent laughed with him trying his best to keep it from sounding forced.

"I feel like a take a lot of liberties for a toy." He patted Jenna on the rear and her look shot daggers back at him. Several other people in the circle laughed nervously and looked to Dale for direction. Dale quickly shifted the subject to a new Victorian art piece he bought for the grand ballroom. Once again Brent felt excluded from the conversation and Jenna hung on Dale's arm. It was frustrating and her occasional glances his way with coy smiles had him convinced she was teasing him. As usual Dale held the center of attention with his suffocating charm and oppressive presence. There were two others in the circle besides Jenna who didn't seem completely enthralled by everything Dale had to say, a female named Valerie and an older man with coat tails and a monocle who looked a little out of place.

Brent scanned the room in boredom knowing he was not going to get a word in edgewise. He couldn't help but notice the other guests; it appeared that Dale knew a lot of attractive people. The group migrated to the ballroom and Brent followed. There was a small string band with some brass and a grand piano playing in one corner. Valerie pointed out the piece on the north wall, done by some character named James Whistler. She and Dale immediately launched into a heated discussion about whether Whistler was truly a Victorian artist. Brent wandered away from the group towards the band.

"You guys play any Louie Armstrong?" One of the trumpet players made eye contact with a violinist who looked like he was in charge.

"We have in the past." The violinist answered.

"Could you pick your favorite and play it next?"

"Sure." Brent wandered back over to Jenna who still hung on Dale's arm.

"Valerie," Dale continued as if he was talking to an idiotic child, "the Victorian movement spread beyond the borders of England and only someone of extreme ignorance would suggest that an individual from America, which was an English colony until 1776 I might add, could not be a part of that movement."

"Dale you obviously relish in deliberately not listening to a word I say." Valerie shot back with an equally condescending tone. "James Whistler was concerned with appealing to the masses and was never a true artist."

"Oh please, I challenge you to make a more outrageous statement." Dale scoffed.

"Perhaps that nobody cares," Brent interrupted grabbing Jenna's arm. Her jaw tightened but she came with him as he dragged her away. Brent had a feeling it was because she was equally uninterested in the conversation.

"I don't know why I asked you to come here." She said in an exaggerated whisper.

"I don't either but since you did I think we should dance."

"So you can waltz?"

"Nope." The band had finished whatever classical piece and moved into a jazzier tune. "I did a little swing dancing in college though."

"I don't think you can keep up with me." Her predatory smile had returned.

"Is that a challenge? I think you forgot what happened last time we competed." Brent grabbed one of her hands and dragged her toward the center of the room. He gave her an experimental spin. She followed his lead moving with the grace of someone who knew how to dance. As he moved about the floor she followed his lead.

"I thought you were a dancer." Brent commented. Wherever he touched her his hand felt hot. He surprised himself with how fluid their movement was. It was as if being with her brought out his best. The pair danced until Brent was breathing hard. Jenna had that hungry look that meant tonight was going to be a fun night. They hit the bar and Jenna refrained from drinking. In retrospect she rarely ordered anything whenever they went out. They chatted with some of the other guests as the bar but Brent could feel Jenna pulling on his arm letting him know that it was time to go. He gave in with a smile because he knew what was going to happen next. Instead of heading towards the front entrance after they left the ball room she dragged him down one of the side halls. She seemed to know where she was going.

"Where are you taking me?"

"I taking you somewhere I can give you your Christmas present." Brent looked at his watch it was a few minutes past midnight, Christmas day. She pulled him through a side door into what looked like a guest bedroom. In a smooth motion she closed the door and locked it. The idea of having sex on one of Dale's beds appealed to Brent.

"What do you want for Christmas Brent?"

"Is this a trick question?" She pushed him onto the bed with a surprising strength that pushed the air out of his lungs.

"Go ahead be completely honest with me." Brent paused a moment, looking at the room which might have cost more then his entire house, thinking about the money and power that was in the ball room he had just left..

"I want what you have, everything that you have." Jenna hiked up her dress and straddled him inching up his body and then leaned down until she was whispering into his ear.

"Merry Christmas." Then she bit his neck. It was painful but exhilarating all at the same time. Brent laughed and tried to roll over on top of her but she stopped him once again showing strength disproportionate to her size. She didn't let go she just held him there. Brent started to feel dizzy.

"Jenna. What are you doing?" He pushed on her again but her hands gripped his arms like steel traps. "Stop!" He could feel liquid warmth pouring down his shoulder and soaking into the bed. The smell told him it was blood. The first wave of panic set in and Brent began struggling. No matter how much he pushed he couldn't free himself from her grip.

"Jenna!" He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs but it came out as a hoarse cry. His extremities were developing a cold numbness and his fingers felt stiff. Fear set in and Brent kicked and flailed underneath her. He broke free of her grip and tried to roll off the bed but she was on him again. He backhanded her hard but it felt like he was hitting a brick wall. She shoved his face into the comforter and began biting the back of his shoulder through his shirt. He could barely move his legs and his arms felt like they were full of sand. Brent let out a sob into the bedspread somehow he knew this was where he was going to die. Black spots roamed across his vision and then he passed out.


End file.
